


I won't be satisfied by the touch of your hand, nor the sweet of your lips alone

by Anonymous



Series: The Count's Magician [5]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Also Lucio is a tsundere, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Desk Sex, Have you? Seen his Flooded District postcard??, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You’re so dramatic, coming in and breaking down into tears just for my attention,” he says as if he hasn’t done almost the same thing more times than you could count, “Throwing a fit because you think I’m done with you…” He pushes his trousers down enough to pull out his erection and gives you a wolfish grin, “Oh, sweetheart, I’llneverbe done with you.”





	I won't be satisfied by the touch of your hand, nor the sweet of your lips alone

**Author's Note:**

> The alternative summary is, "Lucio gets bitchy because the Apprentice is making him feel an Emotion."

Lucio has been angry lately. Or perhaps short-tempered is more accurate? Irritable? Regardless of the semantics (you know you’re only thinking about it to distract yourself from the real problem), it exceeds his normal levels, and it normally wouldn’t bother you too much if it didn’t seem to only be when you’re around. You didn’t even realize it was only with you until you accidentally eavesdropped on some servants talking in the hallway on your way out of the palace. But there was something more upsetting to what you’d overheard of the conversation than just learning you had made Lucio mad somehow.

“Did you hear? That new kid messed up an order from the Count the other day and they weren’t even punished. He just made fun of them and let them leave.”

“Really? That’s weird, I heard he blew up at the magician that same day…”

You remember this, wincing as you feel a twinge of pain in your chest. You had left a visit without telling him, and the next time you arrived, he made a scene about it. It was, as most things usually are, followed with Lucio fucking you into his mattress with little mercy. That wasn’t the part that hurt, though. What had actually hurt was how quickly and brusquely he had sent you home afterwards.

“Oh no, the poor man… I think the Count might be dismissing him soon…” The servant’s tone is pitying.

“Yeah… I’ll miss his magic shows. He was a lot nicer to us than the others…”

The servants’ gossiping started fading away, but you were stuck paralyzed in the hallway until another servant approached you to escort you to your carriage back home.

Since then, you’ve been in a daze. Lucio…is going to dismiss you? After almost a year, after everything you’ve done together, after you’d _fallen in love_ with him—it’s going to end? Just like that? Did you do something wrong? Is it too late to apologize? Was it unforgivable? Why hasn’t he told you? Did it even have anything to do with you? Did he…

…Did he just start growing tired of you?

That’s what scares you the most. The idea that you have no control over this, that your love for him will always be unrequited. It’s not as though you expected anything else, but you had hoped… Well, clearly it didn’t matter what you hoped. Because now Lucio is going to break up with you and—and—

Then again, can you really call what you had an actual relationship to break?

By the time you next go to see him rolls around, you’re convinced that this is it, you’re going to be told thanks, but your services are no longer needed. On your ride there, despair and dread grip your heart and weigh heavy in your stomach. As you walk the halls towards Lucio’s office, you wonder if maybe it _isn’t_ too late, if there’s anything you could say to convince him otherwise. You try to think of what you could possibly tell him, but every word leaves your mind when you make it to the door.

You don’t want to open it. In fact, you almost want to leave and avoid it entirely. But running from your problems doesn’t make them go away. With that in mind, you take a deep breath, and open the door.

Lucio’s office looks the same as every other time you’ve seen it; mostly clean, save for the desk in the center of the room. Lucio himself isn’t seated at it, however; he’s standing by the full-length window behind it with his arms crossed as he taps his foot impatiently. He looks radiant in the afternoon light, making his fair hair glow, and when he turns to look at you askance, it highlights his sharp profile.

“Finally,” he says, annoyed as ever, “Listen—”

“W-wait.” You’re about as surprised as Lucio is that you’ve just interrupted him. But you want a chance to talk before he breaks your heart. “I… I know you don’t want to see me anymore, but I want to know—did I just do something wrong? Can I…” Humiliatingly, your voice gives on a small pathetic sound. You refuse to cry, though, and clear your throat before continuing. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Lucio stares at you for a long time, stunned. He looks appalled, and it’s not the most comforting expression, especially now of all times. He eventually recovers, though. Unfortunately, the stormy expression that replaces it only terrifies you more.

“‘I don’t want to see you’? Where did you get that idea?” he asks, contempt dripping from his voice. His fists clench, wrinkling the fabric of his sleeves.

“I…” That’s not what you expected him to say. You answer without thinking, “I overheard some servants talking…”

Lucio lets his arms drop and he starts striding towards you. The closer he gets, the more you back away on instinct until you’re up against the door. His clawed hand lands on the solid wood beside your head, the points digging into it.

“So you’d rather listen to servants than me, hm?” You gasp and open your mouth to say something, anything, but he presses his other hand over it. “I thought you loved me. Was that a lie? Do you actually _want_ to leave?” He asks that, but he doesn’t move his hand to let you talk. The way he’s looking at you, cold and impassive, is terrifying. You’ve seen him like this before, but it was never at you, only at courtiers or nobles that ended up getting punished or sentenced to death in creative ways some time after. “If you’d rather listen to some servant instead of me, maybe you _should_.”

You jolt against the door and reach up to pull at his wrist, trying to free your mouth to tell him _no_ , _that’s not it_ , _you’re sorry_ , but he doesn’t budge. Then he smirks with a hint of sadistic satisfaction. “Desperate to stay, are you? You want to be with me forever…” You try to nod as much as you can with his hand firm on your face. “So terrified of never seeing me again that you’d take even the idle gossip of bored, inconsequential people seriously.” You’ve been trying to hold back tears since you walked in, but finally you break, and a drop falls down to his hand. Lucio laughs again quietly. “Aww, sad, kitten? Scared?” With every question he moves a little closer to you. “Do you want me to promise to never send you away? Do you want me to tell you I _love_ you? Do you want me to _marry_ you?”

You knew that’s exactly what you wanted. Indeed, you’ve fantasized about such things so much that you could describe them with great detail. But you didn’t realize exactly how much you wanted them with your entire being until now, until he said it out loud. His voice was taunting and teasing, but even so, the ‘I love you’ rings in your ears, and more tears start rolling down your cheeks. You want to tell him that of course that’s what you want, but still he won’t move his hand.

He understands anyway. He strokes the skin on the side of your face with his claws, and his face turns neutral, observant. “You want those things more than anything, don’t you…?” Again you try to nod, and with some success. He shudders a little, and his eyes go half-lidded.

“Get on your knees and don’t talk until I give you permission to. If you don’t do exactly as I say, then I _will_ make you leave and never come back.” Fear grips your heart, and when he finally pulls his hand away, you immediately fall to your knees, ignoring how much it hurts to do so.

Now that you’re faced with his groin, you notice that he’s actually…somewhat hard. You’re confused (when did that happen?), but it still makes your body warm with your own arousal. Above you, Lucio sighs heavily as he starts undoing his trousers.

“You’re so dramatic, coming in and breaking down into tears just for my attention,” he says as if he hasn’t done almost the same thing more times than you could count, “Throwing a fit because you think I’m done with you…” He pushes his trousers down enough to pull out his erection and gives you a wolfish grin, “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll _never_ be done with you.”

You shiver at his words, and as he approaches your mouth, you let it fall open. He snickers a little and slides in with little ceremony, then starts slowly rocking in and out while he grows to full hardness. Once he has, he shoves himself all the way in until your nose is buried in his shorthairs, and doesn’t move. It’s hard to breathe, but not impossible, though you are fighting off your gag reflex and can’t stop swallowing constantly around him.

Lucio reaches down to slide his fingers through your hair, groaning. “Sometimes it feels like your mouth was made for my cock…” You accidentally inhale too sharply at that that you choke a little on him, and he moans, “Especially when you do _that_.” Finally he pulls out, then moves back in, starting a slow rhythm that starts with only the tip on your tongue and ends with him reaching the back of your throat. Your hands move up to grip the trousers over his thighs just so you have something to ground you, but—

“Ah, ah,” he shakes a leg to get your hand off of it, “put your hands behind your back, and don’t move them.” Though it pains you to, you do what he says, gripping your wrists tight. As he uses your mouth, you begin getting lightheaded, both from your partially restricted airflow and the general headiness and daze that comes from sex with Lucio.

Eventually (and predictably), Lucio loses patience and starts thrusting faster into your mouth. His panting is interspersed with moans, and your excitement mounts with every sound. God, do you love his voice. You love _him_. You want to tell him so, but he won’t let you talk, so you’ll just have to show him.

Throwing yourself into it, you start bobbing your head into his thrusts and sucking wholeheartedly. Lucio makes a short strangled noise, but covers it with a laugh. “Trying to make up for your mistake?” He misunderstands your intentions, but you couldn’t correct him even if you wanted to.

Lucio’s pace soon becomes erratic. His grip in your hair tightens. “You’re going to swallow it. _All_ of it.” You prepare yourself accordingly, and take a deep breath just before he comes hard just barely inside your mouth. His semen splashes against your tongue, thick and bitter, and as he ordered, you swallow as fast as you can to get it all, but it still quickly becomes too much. When Lucio pushes your head back, you cough some of it out, and it spills from your mouth and down your chin. You look up at Lucio, panicked, hoping he won’t be unsatisfied.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be. He’s smirking like usual as he pull his trousers back up. “I suppose you did passably.” He wipes his ejaculate off your chin and pushes it into your mouth. As you swallow it down, he returns to his desk. You are instantly confused and not a little dismayed when he simply sits in his chair. He does still look beautiful, though, with the picturesque garden you can see through the window behind him. It wouldn’t be entirely miserable to sit here and just watch him.

He gets comfortable in his chair. “Come here,” he says with a gesture. You rush to do as he says. As much as you wouldn’t mind just watching him, being near him is much more enjoyable. Once you’re within reach, he grabs your upper arm and yanks you towards him. On instinct, your hands shoot from their place behind your back to Lucio so you don’t smash your face into his. You end up sprawled all over him, pressed up against him everywhere you could be, and you’re sure he can feel your hardness against his lower abdomen.

He wraps his metal arm around your waist, then leans forward to open a drawer in his desk and dig through it. There’s a lot of strictly not-work-related items in there (you think you saw some rope, several thin strips of cloth, and something long and wrapped in black leather), and he eventually pulls out a familiar bottle of oil. You shiver in his lap. But what does he plan on doing with it? Will he only use his fingers? He already came, after all.

When he leans back in his chair, he pushes you away enough so he can hand you the bottle. “You can do this by yourself. I’ve got some work to catch up on.” And with that, he scoots the chair forward, making it impossible for you to get off of him, while giving you just enough space to do what he told you.

Is that…it? You try not to be disappointed, but it’s hard. He said he’d never be done with you, but he’s still in a mood, and now he’s back to ignoring you. Is he _truly_ not upset at you for something? Again you want to just ask, but he still hasn’t given you permission to talk. You’re not sure if he’d actually follow through on his threat.

“Well?” he says, sounding bored as he sifts through some papers, “Are you going to do it or not?”

At that, you force yourself to relax against Lucio and get to it. You pull down your trousers enough so you can reach your backside, then, wrapping your arms around him so you can properly open the bottle, start wetting your fingers. That done, you curl your back a little and shift your hips up so you can comfortably slide your fingers between your cheeks to get at your hole.

Lucio was writing something as you were getting ready, but when you let out a shuddering breath as your finger slips inside, the sound of his scrawling stops. You don’t pay it much mind, though, and start slowly stretching yourself open. As time passes, you eventually add one, two, three more fingers, and it’s difficult to pay attention to the time that passes. Whenever you touch one of your sensitive spots, you gasp and bite hard on your lip. You kind of want to pull away so you can see if Lucio’s even a little bit affected, but you’re worried you’ll disturb his work if you do. Your hand slips a little when you’re not focusing and your fingers jab hard against your prostate, making you jerk a little and moan against his shoulder.

There’s a fluttering of papers behind you, and you pause, hoping he’s done and will pay attention to you again. But you hear his writing start up again. Still working, then. It makes you a little frustrated. Why bother calling you here if he’s just spend the whole time on this? With a deep breath, you just get back to it. Maybe if you finish, he’ll let you go so you can go back to your shop and actually do something useful.

This time you purposefully search for the spots that’ll get you off the fastest, and start fantasizing about Lucio touching you, since he won’t do it himself. You imagine him tugging you back by the hair and biting marks into your neck. You think about all the times he’s taken you, all the times he’s loudly proclaimed you as his. You remember all the times he’s kissed you, both roughly and the few times he’s done it softly, leaving you feeling emotionally raw. You start panting harshly against his shoulder the more you think about him, moving your fingers faster and faster as you get closer to the edge.

You’re in the depth of a fantasy of him making love to you gently as he tells you he loves you when you finally orgasm, with a choked cry. It’s difficult to restrain yourself from saying his name. As soon as you come down from your high, you realize two things; one, your come is splattered all over trousers (inconvenient, to say the least), and two, you’ve slumped heavily against Lucio, and he’s stopped working, tense against you.

There’s suddenly a hand around your wrist that pulls your hand away from behind you. Confused, you lean away from Lucio’s shoulder to look at him, and you see his cheeks are slightly pink and he’s staring hard at you. You bite your lips to keep yourself from asking what’s wrong. He doesn’t say anything to explain himself, he just grabs one of your legs, pushes it up, and turns you around so your back is against his chest. That’s when you feel his renewed erection against your behind. You gasp a little—is he going to have you ride him…?

The answer is no, or at least not yet. Lucio bends you over, and has you lean against the edge of his desk as your knees sit on the edge of his seat. It’s a very revealing position, giving him a perfect view of your own work, and you can’t help but squirm a little. You can feel a drop of oil sliding down and dripping off your skin.

“Why don’t you make a show out of it for me, lovely?” he says, pulling down your dirtied clothes. You shudder when he spreads your cheeks with his hands. “And I’ll give you this; you can say my name if you want.”

You instantly take the opportunity, and when it comes out, your voice is embarrassingly soft and shaky. You feel like you’re trying to convey too much in one utterance of his name. He probably won’t understand.

“That’s it,” he snickers, but then his voice becomes more demanding, “Now do it. Finger yourself. Make it good.” He lets go of one of your cheeks to pour a little more of the oil over your hole, and it twitches in response.

“ _Lucio_ ,” you say, whining this time. He has to know you just came and you’ll still be wildly oversensitive. Then again, when has he ever cared about that?

He pointedly clears his throat and spreads you wide again and you take a deep breath before reaching back again to slide your fingers back in. He laughs with satisfaction under his breath. At least he’s sort of participating now. Actually, you’re much hotter now compared to when you were doing this before now that his eyes are on you. When you start thrusting your fingers, you clench down hard every time you accidentally brush against any tender spots that send powerful jolts of electricity up your spine.

It doesn’t take as long as you feared for your nerves to calm down enough for it to feel good. Again, this time without thinking, you slip into a fantasy, one where Lucio pulls you back down into his lap and touches you all over while he kisses all along your neck. Where he touches you while telling you how good you are. It draws a throaty moan from your throat, and Lucio speaks up. “What are you thinking about? Me?” His claws dig into your skin a little, threatening. “It’d better be me.” You bite your lip and rock your hips back a little, both into your and his hands.

Then he suddenly pulls his hands away. You pause, confused, until you hear the familiar sound of rustling cloth, and your pulse quickens. You see him snatch the bottle of oil in the corner of your vision, and after a quick slicking noise, he grasps your hips and yanks you down.

You don’t quite fall directly onto his length, but you definitely feel it wet between your cheeks. He bucks up against you once, then wraps his right arm around your chest to pull you flush against him. You feel his breath on your ear before he starts talking, and it makes you shiver. His voice is quiet and slightly less confident than usual when he requests, “Say my name. Tell me you love me.”

He bends his head a little to nose against your neck, and you open your mouth to repeat the words before you realize that you haven’t heard him ask that of you the past several times you’ve been with him. Sure, you’ve said it on your own and he’s brought it up, but it hasn’t seemed to satisfy him like usual, and he’s never asked it of you in this quiet and intimate way he does like he used to from time to time.

When you tell him, it’s with as much fondness as you can muster. “I love you, Lucio.”

Lucio lets out a shuddery breath and, after a short pause, bites down on the side of your neck, sucking harshly. At the same time, he moves your hips up so he can properly enter you, and you naturally sink down on him. With the sheer amount of time you spent preparing yourself, it goes in easily. You’re still sensitive, but it’s pleasurable, and you feel perfectly full. He doesn’t start moving yet, though, too preoccupied by marking your neck. You lean heavily into him, content now that he’s finally focusing on you.

He slides his hands under your thighs and lifts your legs up so he can pull off completely the clothes restricting your legs. Then, taking your thighs again, he spreads your legs wide, making you bite your lip. If anyone walked in right now, it’s unlikely they’d be able to see the more intimate parts, but they’d definitely be able to see how open he’s got you. You’re distracted from this thought as Lucio gives you one final harsh bite before pulling away from your neck.

Then he finally starts moving. Or rather, he starts moving you, up and down rhythmically on his cock. The way he so easily carries your weight winds you up further, and the short stuttered noises that make it past your lips come more frequent the longer he does so. At one point he finds just the right angle to hit your prostate, and you moan loudly, clenching down on him. You clutch the armrests of the chair like lifelines, feeling absolutely consumed with heat. He’s got you at his mercy, completely under his control, and it turns you on so much it’s embarrassing.

Lucio starts bucking up into you at the same time as he drops you, and the increased pace makes you cry out his name. More words (likely begging) almost follow, but you manage to slap a hand over your mouth before they come out.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, but he doesn’t exactly sound pleased. He sounds frustrated, actually. “You’re getting what you wanted.” And you are, in a manner of speaking. He definitely paying attention to you, and he’s promised (in his own way) to never let you go. But he’s still so angry with you that you have no idea why he’s deigning to give you what you want in the first place. What does _he_ want? Why is he still bothering with you if you’re bothering him? He’s obviously attracted to you, and he gets _something_ out of your love for him, but why are you still apparently worth it to him?

These thoughts clear your mind when he drops your legs and suddenly stands. You nearly fall to the ground, but you manage to catch yourself on his desk. You’re alarmed—is he stopping now? But no, he leans over you to sweep the contents of his desk clean off, startling you with a cacophony of noise. Then he grabs you by the shoulder and spins you around.

“Get on the desk,” he orders, and you don’t hesitate to obey. The desk is cool on your back, but Lucio wraps your legs around his waist and slides back into you, shifting your focus to the pleasure that overtakes you when he starts pounding you again, even harder and faster than before. He’s got an iron grip on your hips, and though you instinctively try, you can’t move them. You can move your hands though, and you reach up to Lucio’s shoulders, barely able to touch them. Surprisingly, he bends over enough to let you fully wrap your arms around his neck. The expression on his face as he nears you is intent and overwhelming and you almost close your eyes, but he looks so good with his slightly disheveled hair and red cheeks and pale eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing he cares about (and maybe it's just another fantasy but)—

“L-Lucio— _nnh_ —what do you want from me?” you ask without thinking, and it’s only when he stops fucking you that you realize what you’ve done. Eyes wide, you cover your mouth with both hands and stare up at him pleadingly, hoping he’ll forgive you.

Lucio doesn’t reply to you at first. He averts his gaze, and intermittently squeezes your hips. He seems slightly…anxious? It seems like he stopped more because of your question than because you talked without permission. When he finally does talk, he fixes you with another irritated look.

“This, obviously,” but to your surprise, his words don’t come out nearly as confident as they once might have. “Why are you,” he grunts as he starts thrusting into you again, “even asking? I didn’t say you could talk.”

You groan into your hands, but you don’t dare move them to answer him. You aren’t about to question Lucio, notorious for his temper and still angry at you specifically, on his motives. And you definitely aren’t about to ask why he’s lying.

It’s not until you’re about to come that you realize how close you are. When Lucio stops again, the pathetic whine you can’t stop is muffled. But he doesn’t leave you hanging; he releases your hip to grasp your erection tight, almost enough to hurt. His pace when he starts stroking is frenetic, and your back arches. Your hands fly up to his shoulders again, trying to get some kind of stability, and you can hardly breathe. With a final cry of his name, you climax over your stomach, dirtying your shirt, shuddering violently even after it ends. Lucio removes his hand, then pulls out of you. Your eyes are shut, but you soon hear the rapid slick sound and Lucio’s quick panting, and you know immediately what he’s doing. It’s only a matter of time until he comes, semen splattering all over between your legs, making you shudder.

After that, neither of you move for some time, trying to catch your breaths. Lucio is the first one to recover. He stands up fully, and your limp arms fall beside you. He bends down, and when he straightens he has your discarded and filthy trousers in hand. As he drags them over your skin trying to clean as much as he can, he’s gentle, and avoids touching any oversensitive places. It makes you smile, and you watch him fondly.

When he finishes and notices you staring, he raises an eyebrow and purses his lips. “What?” Then, when you don’t answer, rolls his eyes, “You can talk now.”

“I just…like it when you’re nice to me,” you admit softly. He stares at you mind-boggled, and you’re just as confused. Is that so weird?

“I thought you liked it when I wasn’t,” he says, squinting at you suspiciously, “Were you faking it? Which is it?”

Your cheeks heat up. “W-well…not quite. I…like both. It’s just that it seems you’ve been…irritated at me lately.” You sigh and rub your face, obscuring him from your view, and you from his. “That’s why I believed those servants. And why I’m happy you’re being nice again.”

Lucio doesn’t answer, so you move your hand. He’s partially turned away, and he has a withdrawn, introspective expression. It looks good on him, but at the same time, you prefer him smiling.

“Lucio?” He looks over at you again and you sit up. “I love you. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to. But…” you smile at him, “don’t forget that. If it, um,” you run an anxious hand through your hair, “if it makes you feel any better, anyway.” You get more nervous the longer Lucio stares wordlessly at you. You’re about to say something to break the tension, but then he smirks and reaches over to grasp your jaw between his claws.

“Awfully bold of you to assume anything is ever ‘wrong’ with me, dearest,” he says, teasing. But instead of being flustered as you usually would be, you find you’re just glad he seems to be back to normal. He looks a little thrown off when you beam at him, but you can’t help it.

“I love you,” you murmur, placing a hand over his, being careful of the points.

“Yeah, well…” The only word you can think of to describe the face Lucio makes is constipated, “Maybe… Maybe I ca—” He interrupts himself by loudly clearing his throat. When he talks again, his tone is overconfident and brash, “Maybe I care about you, too.” He looks and sounds angry that he’s saying it at all, but more at himself than you.

Regardless, he’s said it and now it’s out there, and you just stare at him in shock. It was clear to you that he had some amount of investment in your presence, but you were under the impression it was more physical than anything else. Indeed, he said as much not too long ago. But…he cares about you? Your heart thuds painfully hard in your chest and you feel a little short of breath. Your vision gets blurry with tears, but you can still feel when Lucio jerks away from you.

“Why are you crying!? You said you liked me being nice!” When the tears finally spill over and you can finally see, his face is red and he looks as ruffled as Camio gets when he’s disturbed. “Were you lying!?” His voice is strident and defensive, and kind of cute if you’re being honest with yourself.

“N-no,” you laugh a little and wipe your eyes, “I’m just happy. They’re happy tears. Thank you, that…that means a lot to me.”

Lucio relaxes, but he’s still frowning. “…Sure.” He huffs and looks over your frankly ruined clothes. “You need new clothes. I’ll…get you some.” He starts heading towards the door quickly, like he’s trying to escape.

“Huh—?”

“Stay there!” he yells, though he doesn’t look at you. He slams the door shut after him, then, a moment later, he comes back in and jabs a finger in your direction, “Don’t let anyone in! I don’t want people seeing you like that.” When you nod, he whirls around and again slams the door after him, but this time, it catches on his cape. You can’t help but laugh when you hear a muffled squawk and following thud through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Back to taking the titles from ["To Artina" by Langston Hughes](https://genius.com/Langston-hughes-to-artina-annotated). You can probably guess that, since it's such a short poem, I'm about to run out of titles! I wonder what that means :-)


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